RIP Snake With No Name and Superman the Hen

A post not for the faint of heart.

I posted this a week ago but it deleted.

Argh.

So, S3 is doing well now.

And planning his pets for next year. 

It's been a rough stretch for S3.

Earlier this month, S3 ran into the house looking for me to nurse...

A snake.

In the tank with the snakes, frogs and turtles, the snapping turtle had taken a bite out of the snake and it wasn't a recovery snake.  The turtle had gone right for the middle of the snake to devour it up.

S3 was ready to move the snake to our one and only bathtub to nurse the snake well.

I told him, "No way."

And then I watched his little lip quiver, his eyes fill up with tears.

I still said no.

But my husband and I headed out to see the snake in recovery.

S3 had taken the turtle out and moved him out to a new habitat (how many habitat these boys have for reptiles is unnerving) and removed the snake to lay on the grass.  There it laid still, unmoving.

Only a slight flick of it's tongue gave indication it was still alive.  In the middle of the snake was a huge chunk gone. The little turtle had thought the snake looked very tasty.

We brought S3 into the house so he didn't have to see while S1 took care of the snake and buried it out in the weeds.  He was sniffling and crying.  "That snake didn't even have a name," Jake tried to console him.

"But it was my snake and it was trained so good," he wailed.

What do you say when your son is sobbing over a snake?

I just sorta ran out of words at all so I just gave him a hug.  

RIP Snake with No Name

Less than two weeks later....

S3 headed out to the chicken coop with a bunch of chicken scraps.  Any leftover food or cleaned out fridge food goes right out to the chickens.  They get to dine on home cooked meals quite regularly. 

Suddenly he came bursting into the house.  

His chicken, his beloved chicken that had survived all the raccoon attacks this summer, had died.

And my poor son had been the one to find the chicken.

This chicken has had quite a life.

There was the day we took the chicken to school.

Yah, you read that right.

Superman the hen did a rather memorable class trip and I chalked that up on my "Never thought I would do this" list.

All summer we have been fending off raccoons and have had to keep our usually roaming chickens penned up.  But something had grabbed the hen and taken it's head off - whether a night time critter or a dog - but the chicken was dead and he was devastated.

My heart broke for my son who's heart is so soft that he sobs over dying snakes and dead chickens.

RIP Superman the Hen

What To Do If You Find a Dead Man on The Side of The Road

This weekend has been fun and insanely busy.

But probably the story we will be telling the most will be about how I found a dead man on the side of the road Sunday morning.

That was NOT fun.

It was, however, insane.

Ready for this one?

I woke up earlier than normal on Sunday morning and since my washing machine died, I figured I would sneak out of the house before all the boys were awake and get some laundry done at the laundry mat.  I arrived before 6:30, found it closed until 7, so I headed back home.

As I passed the body shop on our road, I did a double take at a large man lying on his back just off the road in the front of the body shop's car ports for sale.

I slammed on my breaks.

Did I really just see this????

The man was well over six foot, I would guess.  One arm was laying above his head, the other across his chest.  He had a long black goatee, black jeans and a green t-shirt covered his large belly.

I went to turn into the next drive to turn around and then thought...

What am I thinking?

I could SEE my driveway so I sped home and burst into the door calling for Jake.

He stumbled sleepily from the bedroom where he had been sleeping.  "What? What is it?"

"I, uh, I think I just saw a dead man at Hinkles!"  I began to shake.

"I'll get dressed.  You call 911."

I called 911.  I told them specifically what the man looked like, what car port he was next to and the name of the business, location on the road etc etc.

Jake jumped in the suburban with me and we sped down the road.  We slowed as we came upon the man.  "Oh!" I cried, "He's not dead! His arm is in a different place!"

Jake parked the suburban and got out.  He walked over to the man.  Looked at him.  Walked back to the suburban.  "The guy is totally wasted and snoring.  Let's just see what the cops do when they get here."

To not be in the way, we drove to the Family Dollar across the way and watched.

Any minute they would arrive.....

Another car slowed.

One turned around in the greenhouse drive.

"We better go tell everyone we called 911," I said.

We drove back to Hinkle's parking lot.  But the other vehicles just slowed to look at the man and drove off.  The owner of Hinkle's arrived.  He parked to the side of the building, I am not sure if he even was aware what we were doing there or of the man lying on his front lawn.

"Want to take a picture of the guy?" my husband asked.

"It just feels wrong." I said.

I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN A PICTURE!!! I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN A CLOSE UP SHOT!!

A car pulled up along side the man and leaned out the window.  I could see the siren lights down the road.

"Let's tell that guy the ambulance is nearly here."  My husband drove up to the man in the car who would not even look at us but was leaning well out of his car window.  "It's almost like the guy seems to know him..." Jake mused to himself.

"JAKE!" I nearly squealed, "I think all those sirens just turned into our driveway! THE BOYS!!!!"

I was imagining my sound asleep boys being awoken to no parents and a police swat team swarming the house.

I didn't know our suburban could go from zero to 75 so fast.

The sirens were NOT in our driveway but had turned just after our drive.  TURNED AROUND AND WENT THE OPPOSITE WAY!!!!

Jake slowed the suburban and I leapt out.

I realized later I leapt out with coffee still in hand.

Jake raced toward the sirens, hazards on.

The police and ambulance turned and zoomed toward Hinkle's.

Mere moments late.

Nearly 20 minutes after my call.

The owner of Hinkle's and Jake gave the police a full description.  The man at Hinkle's knew EXACTLY what vehicle the man who had shoved the severely wasted man was driving before he off.

WE SHOULD HAVE TAKEN HIS PLATE NUMBER.

Hubs arrived home.  The boys just began to wake.  They were oblivious to our morning excitement.

All before seven in the morning.

Phew.

So, we learned some valuable lessons today.

I should have called 911 as soon as I spotted the man.

We should have taken pictures to show the police.

We should have gotten a plate number.

But I sincerely hope I never see who I think is a dead man on the side of the road again.

Happy Mother's Day!

Recently, I was chatting with another mom friend of mine and she brought this blog post up.  "It's the perfect Mother's Day post," she told me, "I forward it to my friends regularly.  It makes me cry every time I read it."

I think she is right.

In the midst of our insane busy-ness, we need the reminder that only my Great Grandma and her sister can give us.  I needed to be reminded of it once again...

My great grandma, who is ninety, is dying. Her heart has weakened, hospice has been called in and someone sits with her all hours of the day and night.

My mom, my sister, my two year old niece and I went to see her Sunday afternoon. Honestly, I do not recall a time only the four of us have done anything together - except maybe sat in the hospital when my niece was born - and we had a good time out and about today. The January sun shone brightly and cheered our travel. We giggled and laughed and drank coffee. My niece and I made funny faces and skipped across the parking lot together, her in her princess shoes, glittery skirt and fancy pink beads.

My great grandma always scared me as a child. She is tall. And wore heels. She spoke loudly and I could never tell her and her sister - who was always with her - apart. I thought they were twins. I would go to hug my great grandma, get my aunt, they would look all the long way down at me, exclaim "oh my lands", pat my back roughly and off I'd go....scared to death being the timid girl I was (am).

Growing up, I never thought much of her.

Sometime after my husband and I married and settled here, she began to show up at the house. She always came bearing chocolate of all sorts (whatever holiday had just passed, that was the chocolate she brought. She always informed me of the great price.). She brought me tablecloths that I loved but was afraid to use. Baking dishes. Kitchen towels. Balls for the boys to play with or coloring books and crayons.

Then she would sit at my table, look at the chaos around us, smile a bit, and tell me of when she lived on a farm.

I had never known this.

And in her visits, she became very dear to me.

And life being what it is, I never made it out to see her at her apartment.

Until today.

My Aunt (her daughter) was there and I have always liked my Aunt B. She is stylish and sweet and kind and I have always admired her. In a chair, bundled in a white blanket someone had painstakingly made, was a shell of the woman who had visited me.

My great grandma.

To read the rest of this story, Click HERE. 

Before You Don't Have a Mother's Day

Her death came unexpectedly.

I joked with Kor about the boys bringing a snake to school and then she entered her office where she, no doubt, got the call.

Her mom had died.

I cannot imagine the grief that over took her.  I was there in a hotel room when my mom received the call that her dad had died unexpectedly.  That wail is forever etched in my dark memory of that moment.

I've met Kor's mom a few times.  She had a sparkle in her eye.  Do you know what I mean by that?  You know that person you meet and you just instantly are drawn to and find adorable?  That was Kor's mom.  Of course, I may have been prejudice since I had heard her talk about her mom often over the years.

My husband knew, without me even putting it into words, that the death hit me hard.

My mom was gone taking care of her mom.  For six weeks she had been states away.  When I heard the news that Kor's mom had passed, I drove out to my parents.  I looked at the kitchen table littered with over a months worth of mail.  I looked at my dad's single dish service that he had been rewashing and reusing every day since she had gone.  The fridge had no iced tea, the table had no fresh flowers.  I looked at the unmade bed my dad slept in alone.

I stood there and cried.

The same week, a friend called me from out of the blue, carefully scheduling her call to make sure my boys would be tucked into bed.

You know those phone calls that come late at night and you answer with dread because you know it can't possible be good news?  That.  And it wasn't good news.  And as she cried telling me not what she feared for the future but what this might do to her precious children, I found myself without words.

What words do you say when a friend faces death?

There are none.

I sat alone in the ancient church at Kor's mom's funeral.  Being a friend of the family, we were tucked off to the side.  The church was packed, which should not have shocked me after visiting the busy funeral home the day before with my family.

I never caught sight of Kor, but I had a direct view of her friend, Katie.  Katie was seated in the friend section of the church with me.  A pastor who did not know the family well officiated the funeral and when he asked for people to stand and say something about the woman they had loved, no one passed a microphone to the slight framed woman barely holding it together in the front row.  The woman I knew because of Kor, who had grown up with Kor's mom and had a million stories and whose heart was breaking more than some others there.  Tucked away in the friend section sat a woman who loved Kor and her mother ever so much and hardly a soul was even aware of her existence.

My mom's best friend I call "my other mother".  I have not kept in touch with her over the years, my mom does, of course, and now that I am grown I cannot bring myself to call her by her first name.  She is, forever, "my other mother".

But Katie, she was close to Kor's mom.  She may well have had a special name for her.

After the funeral, I found Katie.  It was her I hugged.  It was her I cried with.  It was me who asked her to take care of Kor today.  It was her who asked me to take care of Kor in upcoming weeks.

Because there are friends who are more than friends.  There are friends who are dearer and more precious than family.

I put on my dark black sunglasses and walked from the church.  Two hours prior I had stood in the store and picked out a mother's day card for my mom.  I am not sure why that sprung to my head as I quickly walked away from the church, glasses hiding my tears.

Kor will never buy another Mother's Day card.

I went about the rest of the day with a smile on my face as I ran my errands, made dinner and did the odds and ends that I do in a day.

But alone in my house, fixing dinner, the lump in my throat would not go away.  I looked at the clock and realized Kor's mom's body was now in the ground.

This song came to mind.  Her family talked much about the "dash".  That line between the day their mother was born and the day their mother died.  That 'dash' that was her life.





She left behind her husband of 57 years.

57. Years.

Anyone who knows me at all knows I am head over heels in love with my husband.  Sounds cliche "I love him more everyday" but I do.  And we do love each other more and more because we work at this marriage.

I love my boys to a million zillion pieces as well.  But this weekend had me wanting to find a quiet place far far far away from them.  They were on my last nerve by seven in the morning.  S1, finding a moment alone with his Daddy, said, "I think Mama has had a rough weekend."

He was so right.

As a mom, that happens.  I can't excuse it but I can admit it.  I wanted a break from all of them.

Listening to Kor's mom's service as they described the woman who was creative and loved and shared her smile and gifts with all those around her, I could have been convinced that they were speaking of Kor herself.  She will carry her mother's legacy on well.  But her mom had a knack to be "in the moment" so well.  Kor does this too, I have always admired this about her.

Treasure the moments because they will be gone so soon.

Someday my mom will die.  But when Mother's Day comes around this year, she will be home and I will be ever so grateful to be sitting on the back porch with her sipping iced tea.

Someday my husband will be ancient gray and I hope I am there to care for him and he for me.

Someday my boys will grow up and leave home.  I will miss the sounds of their nerf gun wars and running, their laughing and probably their petty fighting that drives me so insane now.

We all tough days with our spouse.  We have tear filled tough days with our kids.  But that's life, and life is finding the beauty in the mess.

Life is a blink.  Motherhood is a blink.

Don't waste it.

I am writing this in the moment of the emotion.  I'll wait to publish it near Mother's Day.  Maybe I'll reread it and recheck it for my mistakes.  But probably I won't.  
I didn't want to post it before my mom made it back, keeping all this quiet as to not worry my mom while she was gone.

When Nothing Makes Sense...

In the past few weeks....

My cousin's husband - a healthy man just three years older than me - suffered a stroke.

A young 16 year old star died on the basketball court from an unknown enlarged heart.

My great grandma died.

My sister's very best friend found out that her husband has cancer.

My brother's good friend and his wife died in a car accident during a freak ice storm, leaving behind two young girls.

It doesn't make any sense to me. At all.

Some things you can make sense of. A ninety year old woman dies. People get cancer, have surgery, live a long life. You can, like my cousin, recover fully from a stroke.

But some things just make no sense.

The earthquakes and horror in Japan are horrific but they seem so far away, even if your heart does break from the images. But when it strikes close to home, on roads you have traveled a hundred times, when someone you love has a broken heart and is leaning on another to hold them up because the sobs are wrenching their heart....

It doesn't make sense.

I can't explain it, I don't have any trite answer.

But I have a faith in God. A God I know who is holding me...while I can't make a bit of sense of it all, I have a faith that God has it in control. He wasn't surprised by it, shocked or caught of guard.

And that He knows the ache in my heart that I cannot put into words.

It's a tough balance, the aching pain of loss and hurt for those you love and the life you are living in the moment.

My five year old fear that laughter may cause you to get a heart attack and die. Because Wes Leonard was cheering happily over his teams win when he died. Because my great grandma was laughing baking a banana cake when she died.

And my eight year old needed to know if we could have an earthquake.

The boys are out laughing tonight with my husband. They are racing bikes and making us laugh and it's a nice fun evening. And yet my heart is heavy. It's hard to balance the two.

There is no easy way to.

How do you learn from this, glean some sort of good?

Because otherwise doesn't death seem pointless? The life lived useless?

My instinct is to shut down. To pull my family close and not leave them. I have had cold icy fingers of fear squeeze around my heart when I have left my boys behind to go off on a date - or just to go home after leaving them at school. I have called my parents or siblings just to hear their voice just because I suddenly have a fear they will be gone from me.

I cannot even fathom this.

Tonight, as I was washing dishes with tears filling my eyes, I thought about my brothers good friends who died. I have never lost a friend of mine. I can't understand his pain, but I feel it.

So I am going to write him a note, let him know I love him.

I don't tell my brother I love him.

And when I am done writing it to him, I am sending a note to my sister. And to my other brother. And my parents.

I am going to hug my boys, every morning, no matter how late we are to get to school.

And I am going to kiss my husband, look right in his eyes, and tell him I love him.

Because you just don't know when someone's day may be their last day here on earth. While you cannot live in a panic fear, you can make sure that the ones you love know that you love them.

After my great grandma's funeral, the boys and my husband and I went over for pizza at my parents. My Aunt was there, she'd flown in for the funeral, and my sister in law bumped into my mom at the pizza place so she came with her son. We all sat around the table chatting until late late in the night. We had nothing deep to discuss, we were just all together. Over a week later, I am still grinning when I think back on this night. It was precious to me.

Even more so because once we almost lost my Dad and I was keenly aware of how blessed I was in that moment, sitting around the table, with him at the head of it.

Create those precious moments, they become the precious memories.

Don't ever forget you can drop to your knees and cry out to the God who created us all and knows us more than we know ourselves. And knows this situation. And this loss. And loves us.

Final Thoughts on My Great Grandma

As most of you know,

Last week Sunday my Great Grandma passed away.

From here to heaven.

If you missed that post,

you can read it here.

In her top dresser drawer, I found this picture. It's my husband and I and all the boys...S4 is no doubt kicking it up in my tummy. We're at my parents for my youngest brother's high school graduation.

Last week was...quite the week. It was filled with highs and lows and tears and laughter. Once the word was out that she had died, messages came flowing in on face book. I had people watching for and then clipping for me the obituary. My twitter friends were sending condolences, they were sending crock pot recipes for me, I received emails of "thinking of you" and "here's a recipe, hope it helps". And I cried happy tears when I arrived home from the funeral to find brownies and snicker doodles on my front porch - she knew my boys would be starving and I that hadn't baked. She knew I needed some chocolate.

All these things meant so very much to me. Totally blew me away and humbled me.

My Grandma lived a long long long life. But as I told one of my friends, I feel like her passing took my history with her.

I am thankful my aunts and mom did not have to sit over her, watching her try to catch her next breath, dying slowly...the way my wonderful and deeply missed father in law did.

After the full funeral in the church my great grandpa built, where we laughed and hugged and I seen cousins and relatives I haven't seen since....well, I can't remember, but hope to see more of....I drove back home to feed the boys and then I drove back to spend some time with my relatives.

It was eerie and seemed wrong to go through the house and "tag" things we may want to have. I am a great granddaughter. I feel I have very little claim on any sort of anything there. But I dug around in her old fake jewelry, where I found this picture. I took a scarf that is so gaudily bright of blue and red, it reminds me of her.

In the kitchen I mentioned I would take any pots or pans that no one else wanted. I am always in need of more pots to feed my crew. But in the drawer was her potato masher.

And I snagged it up and wouldn't let anyone take it.

I never seen her make potatoes, I didn't know this masher from any memory, but in my pie safe at home is dish she brought me forever ago. It's this funky blue color that I love. It has a glass lid and is one of the prettiest dishes I own. In it I make some of my most favorite dishes. And recently, it is mashed potatoes. For which I need a potato masher, and did not have one.

The dish, along with the masher, no doubt came from the farm house. The farmhouse she would talk to me about when she came by to visit me. She said my house reminded her of the old place. And she never liked that farmhouse.

Jake drove me by the farmhouse Thursday. It is falling apart and in terrible shape. It is sad.

And while she never liked the farmhouse, she had many happy pictures of the times there.

She always lived in houses on the same road as the farmhouse.

My mom, in going through pictures of my great grandma's, has told me a couple different times how much she didn't realize I was like her....in photos. As in, my great grandma took tons of pictures before taking pictures was something everyone did. I have worn my digital camera out. I also learned my great grandpa wrote stories, my Aunt B is on the look out for them.

But what did we all gather around?

Her recipes.

Her recipes and all her pictures.

Snippets of life. Frozen moments in time. Memories in a glance. Melt in your mouth memories of food.

The gift my great grandma gave me was in the visits she brought to me. Whatever possessed her to drive out and visit me I haven't a clue. I was a too busy mom, sleep deprived, laundry shoved in corners I hoped she wouldn't look and she would come over to see me, visiting and giving me chocolate.

And I grew to love her dearly for it.

There was one picture of one of my relatives. It's ancient old, my great great grandma perhaps? She is in a high neck corset type dress with her two daughters - one of which can not speak or hear. She is polished and refined looking. In another picture I found an old woman, thick tights falling on her legs, apron around her square body, hair in a bun and huge smile on her face - it was the same woman.

Life.

It happens too quickly.

But with it you can give gifts too precious to be seen. Only to be shared. To be felt.

She was a brash courageous woman. She would let Jake know if she thought he should look better when she seen him next. She told you what she felt. She exclaimed "Oh my lands!" loudly. She drove her car everywhere.....and it was always spotless. She told the pastor exactly how to do her funeral. I'm glad she did.

This is what she chose....

The song was Lead Me, Guide Me....and the one that I found is Elvis singing it. I find great humor in that!

And this was the scripture she had chosen....

Philipians 4:4-8

Always be full of joy in the Lord;

I say it again, rejoice!

Let everyone see that you are unselfish and considerate

in all you do. Remember that the Lord is coming soon.

Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything;

telling God your needs and don't forget to thank him for his answers.

If you do this you will experience God's peace, which is far more

wonderful than human mind can understand.

His peace will keep your thoughts and your hearts quiet and

at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus.

And now, brothers, as I close this letter let me say this one more thing:

Fix your thoughts on what is true and good and right.

Think about things that are pure and lovely,

and dwell on the fine,

good things in others.

Think about all you can praise God for and be glad about it.

There was a lot more to say, but as I was making potatoes with the potato masher yesterday, this is what I thought of sharing.

Thank you ever ever ever ever ever ever so much for everyone who sent me messages of love and prayer this last week. It meant more to me than you will all ever know.

My Great Grandma

Today, my Great Grandma died. She was with her daughter and her sister and they were laughing and baking a banana cake. She kept claiming her husband was coming from up north to get her today.

She was laughing.

With her daughter and sister.

I guess that's the way to go.

My mom claimed I had a photo of her with all the boys and I dug through some photo albums and found it.

You can see the table laden with all the gifts she had brought us....you can also see how much the boys have grown.

Tonight we will no doubt be looking through the photo albums that I have done....I haven't put together one in forever. I think it's time to start again. There's a lot of memories to be captured and treasured.

I know my Great Grandma was dying and so the news wasn't totally a surprise, but we didn't expect it this soon. And to be honest, I'm taking it hard.

I'm so very thankful I had that day with her recently. You can read about it HERE.

Please, keep our family in prayer this week. Thank you.

It's the Little Details......

Four years ago a great man left this world to wait for us in Heaven. When we get there, he will have undoubtedly helped cook the meal prepared before us.

My father in law died five years ago today. We had found out he had cancer that July after they thought he may have a case of pneumonia, it was lung cancer that spread rapidly and he was gone on a rainy miserable fall day. The day he was buried, it was beautiful, sunny and hot – unusual for Michigan November's.


I will never forget the first day I met my unknown-to-me-one-day-would-be-future-father-in-law. He came in to visit my husband and and I hadn't ever met someone before who seemed so gruff, he was skinny as a rail and as strong as an ox, paid attention to the slightest details, and won me completely over on the spot.


My father in law never told us he loved us. My husband will always remember the day his dad told him he loved him. Nope, he didn't say it but he showed it in a million little details.

My father in law cooked for us. On Sunday's he laid before us a feast. There was never anything fancy, but it there isn't one person in our family who would say it was anything BUT the very best, top quality food. It usually involved stuffing. He made the best most moist stuffing. He made col-slaw, salad with the dressing on it because Western dressing is the only dressing worth eating, I suppose. He made ham or chicken. He made fried potatoes; fried zucchini with tomatoes and squash and mushrooms. He made pickles. He made huge mountains of mashed potatoes. When I would walk in the house in the winter, he would have apple sauce simmering on the stove. When he found out I have a fondness for good bread, he would bring home some loaves from the Hungarian woman at the market and set a bunch of fresh honey in front of me too, I don't think honey had been used in their house much before I showed up to the family.


He knew I loved flowers and would save discarded sunflower bundles from the market, bring them to life again miraculously for me and they would last a week in a vase on the table. He knew I loved peonies and would have big bouquets of them picked and wrapped for me when I would come over. He dug me up some peonie plants, I can't get them to bloom for anything. I feel like that would let him down. He was known in this area for his geraniums, he had a knack for growing top quality, heavy duty geraniums in the greenhouse out back of their house. I still have one. I feel like I have done something to keep his memory alive with that potted geranium.
He had a knack for finding beauty in junk. I'm not sure how he found the stuff he did, but our front porch is decorated with the metal wagon wheels he had found somewhere. The rock garden has the plow he found. I have a garden area with a huge picket fence square he found and saved from the burn pile. Junk turned to beauty, and he cared enough to save it for me and deliver it.
He died when I was pregnant for S4, we had told him his name before he was born. But there is hardly a week where he isn't mentioned, as in, “If Dad could see these boys eat.” “If Dad could see these boys play.” “If Dad could hear these boys talk like this.”

We miss him.

To everyone in the family, my father in law meant something different. I can only write to you from my perspective. It was a true honor to be his daughter in law and I am grateful for every year I was able to know him so I can pass a bit of him down to our four boys.

I've really wrestled with how to write this post. There are so many things I want you to know about him. His humor, his laugh, the way he snapped beans with a knife....

But what I miss the most is the way he paid attention to details. Oh, it could drive you insane don't get me wrong, but it was in the details that I felt loved. Sometimes I don't feel like making a batch of cookies for the boys, oreo's will fill them just the same, but it's the smell, the thought, the experience of the cookies that they love. S1 once wrote a note for me, it was a class project. It said “Love is...” and he had filled in “...Moma's chocolate chip cookies.”.

Don't underestimate the little things.